The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  "How could I marry and carry on Silas's business, love? He needs me to

  be here, not in another man's house. And it earns a good living,

  doesn't it? And you and Francis learning the trade. It would have to

  be an exceptionally understanding man who'd turn a blind eye to what we

  do. Do you mind so much?"

  "I don't mind taking the risks for Silas, no. Without him we'd be

  nowhere, would we? I mind for you, that's all. You'd look well with a

  husband."

  His smile was so like his late father's, catching at Elizabeth's heart

  and starting the ache that thirteen years had barely begun to lessen.

  "Yes, dear. So I would. Now, go and give Francis his instructions, if

  you will. He's downstairs in the big warehouse."

  The group of men had now moved further along the quay, waiting for a

  rowing boat to reach the steps. They had their job to do, their own

  methods, their successes and failures, and they knew of the lengths to

  which some merchants went to evade customs duty on goods from abroad.

  Even the most respectable of them was guilty of some deception now and

  again, when they believed they could win. Busily, Dame Elizabeth

  turned to her lists.

  Later in the afternoon the high tide brought a drop in the wind, and

  the rain that had lashed against the windows now sprayed a fine veil

  across the harbour, lifting the seagulls sideways. John Brakespeare

  clattered up the stairs to the counting-house and, placing his head

  close to his mother's stiff white linen hood, opened the window to let

  in a blast of air.

  She clamped her arms on to her papers.

  "John! Oh, no!"

  "Look!" he said.

  "Look out there. What dye see?"

  White sails bulging with wind and heading for the shelter of the

  harbour. Men already swarming in the rigging.

  "It can't be," she whispered.

  "It is. It's Silas's little cog. It's his, I tell you." He slammed

  the window and latched it, grabbing her woollen shawl and holding it

  ready.

  "Come on."

  "Those men," said Dame Elizabeth, wrapping herself closely.

  "Where are they? I must warn him to have a care. This is ill timed,

  John.

  Quickly, you run on ahead. I'll lock up. "

  The three searchers had watched the arrival of the cog with as much

  interest as Dame Elizabeth and the boys who stood by her side,

  searching the deck with their keen eyes for the one they hoped to

  see.

  "No," Francis said.

  "He doesn't use this one himself much, does he.

  Mother? But there's Master Summer- scale, and there are some

  passengers; no Silas this time. But wait. " he grabbed her arm '...

  aren't those the two women who came with Silas's brother last month?

  You know, me lady from York and her maid? "

  "Good heavens," said John, beaming.

  "That's strange," said Elizabeth.

  No one would have guessed at her consternation as she waited at the end

  of the gang-plank to greet the passengers, her welcoming smile acting

  as a kind of proof to the beady-eyed searchers that this was what she

  had expected and little else. It could not have been a better

  diversion.

  "Welcome back!" she called.

  Allard came first, carrying Isolde, then Caxton, supported by a burly

  seaman, and then Cecily in the arms of the master, Summerscale. In

  turn each of the passengers clung to the Brakespeares as if they had

  expected to be met, which was far from the truth but comforting when

  their legs still felt the ground heaving beneath them.

  "Dame Elizabeth!" Isolde almost fell into her arms, her face

  contorting with joy. Or was it pain?

  "Come in... come in! Are these two gentlemen with you? No... please,

  leave the introductions till later. You look all in. That rough

  sea.

  Ah, you poor things, come. " Taking immediate control, she turned the

  four shivering passengers towards the house, calling to Master

  Summerscale over her shoulder, " You'll sup with us tonight, master?

  Bring the crew, if you will. "

  The three customs officers, however, had other ideas.

  "One moment, mistress," one of them said, signing the others to go

  aboard.

  "This is your ship, I take it?"

  "No," Dame Elizabeth said, 'it isn't. It belongs to my employer, and

  this is hardly the time. Master Customs Officer, to start asking

  questions. Let it wait on the morrow, if you please, and give these

  good men some peace after their voyage. You-can see what weather

  they've come through. "

  "I beg your pardon, mistress, but any delay benefits you, not us. We

  need to know what you're carrying."

  Master Summerscale, halfway up the gang-plank, came to the point.

  "I'm carrying four exhausted passengers, sir. What else dye need to

  know?"

  "Cargo?"

  Master Caxton stepped forward, imposing and dignified despite his pain,

  his face scowling at the holdup.

  "The cargo, sir, is books. My books. Printed on my press in

  Brugge."

  The searcher, his short well-filled neck overlapping the good woollen

  cloak under his chin, turned his attention to Caxton with obvious

  sharpness.

  "You were a passenger on the ship?"

  "You know I was. You watched me disembark. My name is William Caxton,

  sometime governor of the Merchant Adventurers Company in Brugge and

  returned by command of his Majesty King Edward to set up my printing

  press in Westminster. Are you suggesting that I have travelled on a

  ship carrying contraband? Do you want to open each box to take a

  look?"

  "Master Caxton? Er ... no. No indeed, sir." The man's eyes and mouth

  gaped simultaneously as he struggled to stay in command of the

  situation.

  "My apologies, sir, truly. No need to trouble Mistress Brakespeare

  further. I bid you good day, sir. Mistress."

  "Not now or at any time in the future, I should hope," Caxton added,

  severely.

  "Whoever's sent you to investigate this lady's affairs had better look

  to his own, for this is a red herring if ever I saw one. A red

  herring, I say."

  "Absolutely, sir. Routine investigations, sir, no more than that."

  The man called to his two hesitant companions and together they made

  haste up the hill towards the Ship, holding their dignity together over

  the slippery cobbles.

  John Brakespeare stole a glance at Isolde and smiled shyly, removing

  the well-travelled bag from her hands so that she could support

  Mistress Cecily. Dame Elizabeth, overcome with relief and admiration,

  offered Master Caxton a genuine welcome, English fashion.

  "We are in your debt. Master Caxton. I hope you will accept our

  hospitality for as long as you need it. Silas has often spoken of you,

  but your timing was perfect. You're unwell, I see. Come, and you too,

  sir."

  "My brother, Allard Medwin," Isolde said, 'and Cecily, oh. dear. "

  As she spoke, poor Cecily sagged and was caught by Allard.

  "We are indeed a sorry bunch. And an intrusion, I fear."

  But Dame Elizabeth was smil
ing as she placed an arm around Isolde's

  shoulders.

  "You are the best thing that's happened to me all day. I mean it; the

  very best thing. Come, there is some tending to do. John, Francis,

  run on ahead and tell Cook. And tell Emmie to heat more water," she

  called after them.

  There was no denying that Fate had taken a hand in Isolde's affairs and

  left her little to do but accept the hospitality that she had, only a

  few miles out, decided to avoid. How could she impose a second time

  upon this good woman's generosity? What Fate had omitted to tell her

  was that Master Caxton carried a letter of introduction from Silas to

  Elizabeth, knowing that he would need at least one night's lodging

  before continuing his journey to London. Nor did Isolde understand

  that, over the years, Caxton and Dame Elizabeth had had their praises

  sung to each other so often that, except for an unbiased physical

  description, they were as well known to each other as if they'd been

  friends of long standing. Now, at last, they'd been brought together

  in the most auspicious circumstances. Caxton saving his hostess from

  deep embarrassment, as well as himself, whilst she was able to put him

  straight to bed with some broth and a dose of laudanum for the pain of

  his fracture. Needless to say, he went out like a light.

  The riddle of how Isolde, her brother and maid came to be on the same

  ship from Flanders was a mystery that still had to be solved, but Dame

  Elizabeth's perceptions disallowed any questions about that until her

  guests had been made more comfortable, bathed, changed and, in Cecily's

  case, put to bed with the first nourishment she'd had for many days.

  "No questions," she told the boys.

  "We do not interrogate our guests.

  Mistress Isolde will no doubt tell us, when she's recovered. "

  Nevertheless, she had not missed the tears filling Isolde's eyes which

  had been quickly brushed away, but her curiosity was not allowed to

  overcome her compassion. She met Isolde and Allard speaking together

  in low voices upstairs on the wide landing.

  "Now, my dear guests. Do you have everything you need? I have dry

  clothes a-plenty, and some of Silas's things that would fit you well.

  Master Allard. He'd not mind you borrowing them, I know."

  Protectively, Allard kept hold of his sister's hand.

  "Dame Elizabeth, your kindness is overwhelming. Isolde and I had

  intended to--' " If you'd stayed anywhere but here, sir, I'd have been

  mortified. Now, I see that you lack some dry shoes. I shall get you a

  pair of Silas's. "

  Isolde caught at Dame Elizabeth's hand.

  "We owe you an explanation," she said.

  "No, dear. Not now you don't. First you must have food, warmth, and a

  night's rest. Then we can talk. Yes?"

  Partly from fatigue, Isolde's eyes brimmed again.

  But the plan, devised out of kindness, had not allowed for Isolde's

  pressing need to unburden herself and to secure the approval of someone

  wiser than she, Cecily and Allard having been otherwise engaged. Far

  from diminishing over the distance, her anguish and uncertainty had

  grown, and now one more night was one too many.

  Wearing one of Dame Elizabeth's loose robes, and the cotton cover from

  her bed around her shoulders, she tiptoed down the staircase towards

  the soft light from the parlour, catching the same evocative aroma of

  beeswax, lavender and spices that she had noticed on that first

  occasion. It seemed like years ago.

  Dame Elizabeth was standing alone before the great hearth, her face lit

  by the embers and piles of ash that spilled on to the stone, and Isolde

  was tempted to turn back so as not to interrupt her hostess's reverie.

  The hesitation was caught.

  "Isolde, come in. I was thinking what a pity it is to cover the fire

  when it gives such comfort. Share it with me for a while. You are not

  ready to sleep yet?" She held out a welcoming hand and guided Isolde

  towards a low bench on the opposite side of the hearth.

  "Forgive me. I know I should wait for a more convenient time, but

  would it impose on you too much if I were to tell you what happened,

  instead of waiting till tomorrow?"

  "My dear, it would be no imposition. I was not ready to sleep either.

  The day's coincidences are whirling around inside my head, and your

  account is probably what I need to explain them. Master Summerscale

  told me he brought you all from Sluys with a cargo of Master Caxton's

  books, so I realised you must have decided to go there with Silas,

  after all." She threw a log onto the fire to revive it.

  "Not quite," Isolde said, watching the sparks fly.

  "He told me he was going to York."

  "Yes, that's what I understood. Didn't he?"

  "No, he'd been there before coming here. Did you not know that?"

  "Yes, but he told me he had to go back there. It was a sudden

  decision, but it was important to get you back there without being

  seen."

  "It was a bluff. He didn't intend to take me there, or to meet

  Bard."

  "So he didn't...?" A crease appeared between Elizabeth's eyes. This

  was something she had not foreseen.

  "No. He left Bard waiting and he took me straight to Brugge. He has a

  house there, you know, on the Dijver opposite the Gruufhuis."

  The log crackled under the licking tongues of flame and the wind roared

  in the chimney, pulling the blue smoke upwards. Dame Elizabeth's hand

  covered her mouth in utter astonishment, then dropped, slowly.

  "He... he abducted you, Isolde? Is that what you are telling me?"

  "Yes, he wanted me to become his mistress."

  "I see. And you agreed?" She had not meant to probe, but the question

  seemed natural enough, and when

  Isolde's hands visibly shook, Dame Elizabeth moved to join her on the

  long bench, to place her own warm hands on Isolde's for comfort and to

  catch the first warm rain of tears that fell.

  "Shh ... I know. Don't say any more. He was attracted to you from the

  first; I could see that easily enough. But he's a powerful beast,

  isn't he, and I don't suppose he gave you much time to refuse? He's

  always known what he wanted, ever since he was a young apprentice. One

  could never call him impetuous, but when he sets his mind to something,

  he's not known for the subtle approach. My husband used to call him a

  young bullock." She smiled at the memory.

  "You decided to leave, then?"

  Isolde was not sure how much Dame Elizabeth knew about the feud between

  the Medwins and the La Vallons and so, little by little, the full story

  emerged, during which the sympathetic listener had only to confirm what

  she already understood, or to prompt a detail. Yet when Isolde reached

  the part concerning-Silas's connections with the Duchess of Burgundy,

  her voice grew incoherent with anguish, making questions concerning her

  love for Silas quite unnecessary. She shook with grief.

  Dame Elizabeth allowed her to weep, then brushed the unruly mop of red

  hair away from her face.

  "I think there is something you should know," she said, 'though it

 
might have been just as well if Silas had told you himself. "

  "I know," Isolde said, forestalling her.

  "They were lovers in York before the Duchess's marriage."

  "He was no more than twenty, Isolde. Ambitious.

  Confident. Irresistible to a woman like Margaret of York. She was

  only a year or so older than him at the time, and quite wild. My late

  husband had managed to obtain foreign goods for her that no one else up

  here could get; furs, books of hours, perfumes and silks. She's always

  loved silks. Naturally, she took a fancy to Silas. Everyone did. It

  was a very brief affaire. My husband put a stop to it, but it was

  enough to guarantee him a patron for life and exclusive links with her

  family who all wanted whatever he could obtain, especially books and

  fabrics. But it also made him a lot of enemies, Isolde, especially in

  York. "

  "Master Fryde?"

  "Yes. Fryde never had the same success in his trading as my husband,

  because for one thing no one could trust him, and he never managed to

  acquire the same kind of patronage as that which John had from Margaret

  of York."